


Chicken

by otokoume



Category: One Piece
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drunk Sex, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Pre-Time Skip, Seme Vinsmoke Sanji, Uke Roronoa Zoro, but i did for them, i don't normally prose, my first fanfic ever actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 13:09:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14136711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otokoume/pseuds/otokoume
Summary: Two childish men, too much booze, too little self control.Sanji x Zoro





	Chicken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [niigiirii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niigiirii/gifts).



“Where is that damn marimo?” Sanji was already serving the main course, swatting off the captain’s rubbery reach. 

“Oh he’s still sleeping out on the deck,” Usopp said between bites and blows. 

“Yeah, he’s been there all afternoon. Reeking of sake,” Nami said, her fingers clamping her nose shut. Sanji’s eyes narrowed. 

“Some nerve, that asshole, drinking all the damn alcohol in stock, now he’s late for dinner...” Sanji set the final plate down and turned to Robin. “Hey Robin-chan, can you guard the last bottle of shochu till I get back? Gotta round up the last customer.” As much as he hated the guy, he had a job to do and Zoro had only had two meals that day. 

As always, Zoro was in his favorite spot starboard, though this time, lying right cheek down in a pool of his own drool. Charming. 

*WHAM* Sanji delivered a wake-up call with his foot to a mossy head of hair, but only a snore squeaked out of Zoro’s body. Sanji rolled his eyes; did that shitty swordsman really intend to drink himself silly or did he do it to get a rise out of the cook? Sanji’s gut told him it was the later.

Ch, Sanji spat. He could leave a plate out for him, but Luffy would definitely find it before Zoro came to. Only one option: drag him to the mess hall. 

He kneeled down and pulled one of Zoro’s arms over his shoulder, gripped his torso with his other hand. Geez, even unconscious, Zoro was such a pain in the ass. Though the size of the swordsman’s body felt oddly smaller than it looked. The muscle tone was deceptive, bulking up a frame just slightly larger than Sanji’s own. 

Suddenly, Zoro’s head jolted up. The two men’s eyes met and they both screamed, instantly backing up to either side of the ship. 

“THE HELL ARE YOU DOING SHIT COOK”

“GETTING YOU TO DINNER SHITTY SWORDSMAN”

“WHO SAID YOU COULD TOUCH ME”

“DUMBASS NORMAL PEOPLE WAKE UP WHEN KICKED”

The shouting continued until Sanji realized the kitchen was quiet. Too quiet. He dashed off, leaving a groggy Zoro scratching his head. 

Zoro dusted off his shoulders and hips, trying to brush off the awkward sensation of someone—THAT someone else—touching him. People in his personal space made the hairs on the back of his neck stand, one step away from unleashing all three katana. 

He rubbed his eyes of sleep and realized the stars were out; where did the day go? 

Hmm, maybe it was a bad idea to drink a month’s worth of booze in one sitting just to get a rise out of that shit cook. 

Anyway, now for some grub. Only had two meals today. 

Zoro stuck his head into the kitchen, which seemed like some invisible enemy had struck it. Everyone except Sanji and Robin lay passed out in their seats.

“I’m sorry Chef-san, he was too fast for me,” Robin chuckled. 

Sanji rubbed his head in one hand, cigarette ground in his teeth. God dammit Luffy.

“I’ll put everyone to bed, will you need help cleaning up?” Robin offered. Sanji smiled but shook his head and started clearing plates as hands carrying the fallen crew headed for the door.

“Oh, ohayougozaimasu Swordsman-san. Enjoy your dinner. And oyasuminasai,” Robin said with a wink. Zoro raised an eyebrow but bid her good night. He walked into the carnage that had been dinner and sat down at the table. 

“Where’s mine?” he grunted. Sanji glared at him. These god damn last minute diners. 

“Whatever you can grab, idiot. It’s what you get for being tardy.” Zoro shrugged. He scarfed down a few half eaten plates, not leaving a crumb. Gross, Sanji thought, looking away. 

Then the chef spotted the bottle of his most potent shochu, half empty. No one should’ve had more than a sip; the crew was in for a rough morning. But at least there was some left so he could cap off the day, because what the hell, he had earned it. He sat down across from Zoro and poured himself a full shot glass. He slammed it back, only to see another empty glass in his face. 

The swordsman had his arm out expectantly; he knew the strong stuff when he smelled it. Sanji grimaced at him, swatting Zoro’s hand away and passing him a pitcher of water instead. 

“Here, hydrate. Though a midnight hangover would serve you right, fuckin marimo,” he sneered. 

But Zoro sneered back and snatched up the bottle. Sanji froze. No. He couldn’t be. Serious. 

He watched as Zoro downed the rest of the shochu. 

“I only did it to see how a shitty cook would react,” Zoro said, wiping his mouth with a swish of his forearm. He hadn’t intended to admit guilt, but hell, the cook had some nerve refusing to serve him a drink. Maybe the truth would rustle him up a bit. The more Sanji’s eyebrow twitched, the more wicked Zoro’s grin grew. He couldn’t help it that struggle looked so good on the cook’s face. He wanted seconds. 

Sanji breathed in through flared nostrils very, very slowly. His forehead throbbed, he wasn’t even buzzed yet and his cigarette was disintegrating. This fucking guy. How did he always know how to grind his gears? Zoro’s cavalier attitude had wound him up for the last time today; now it was his turn. But how? Combat was always a draw, and endurance was on Zoro’s side, Sanji had to hand it to him. Curse him and his incessant training. 

Then it hit him. A game. One Zoro couldn’t win. 

“Is that so,” Sanji hissed, straightening the lapels of his jacket. He lit up a fresh cigarette and drew a deep drag. “How about we test you with a little game instead? 

Zoro snickered, stretching his arms overhead. 

“I’m all ears, Curly,” He said and Sanji let out a scoff. “Can’t promise I won’t leave you crying.”

“We’ll see who’s crying. Ever heard of ‘Chicken?’”

“No, what’s that?” Zoro said, his head cocked to the side. 

“It’s a game of endurance. Of proximity.” Sanji watched as Zoro’s face flinched. “You know, the body reacts to things that get too close.”

“So. How do you play?” Zoro almost couldn’t form the question.

“Easy. I get ten paces. But no matter what, you can’t move. Not an inch. Anywhere.” Those last words sounded murderous as Sanji arched an eyebrow, his cigarette even smiling. Why hadn’t he thought of this sooner? “You game, Roronoa Zoro?” 

“Five paces,” Zoro said flatly, as he shoved himself and his chair back up to the wall, widening the distance. “Bring it, you cook-tard.” Zoro leaned against the wall like a crutch and crossed his arms over his chest. Okay, just five shitty steps, no moving—how hard could this be? 

Uh oh. The shochu was starting to swell in his head; what the hell did he just drink? 

Sanji slowly stood up and let a stream of smoke escape his lips. Then, without warning, he placed his hands on the table and somersaulted over to the other side, sticking his landing.

“Five.” Crap, Zoro thought, a classic Sanji move he had forgotten to calculate. Should’ve made it three. Shit, what else had he missed? 

“Four.” His long ass legs, fuck. Sanji had taken another stride, the distance halved, and the cook seemed to be in no hurry. Zoro refocused on containing his facial muscles, because what else could he do. He swore Sanji’s eyebrow just curled curlier. Was it laughing at him? 

“Three.” Sanji was an arm’s length away. That lazy cigarette, that cocky eyebrow, that slouchy stance; this idiot, who is always fawning over anything with tits, really thinks he has the upper hand doesn’t he? The blond man stood at the edge of Zoro’s comfort zone. Just two more paces and he’d be in the clear. Just don’t fucking move anything. 

But before Zoro could focus on his breathing, he found himself to be straddled by Sanji’s stems, the other man a towering triangle over him. Zoro breathed in sharply through his nose, his eyelids blown open. The fuck?

“Two.” The bastard actually sat down and what had always looked like thin thighs brought down a strangely heavy weight onto Zoro’s lap. The gravity of Sanji’s presence nearly forced a reveal of panic from Zoro’s face. His heart was pounding, except in his throat. He held down his tongue so hard it felt like it was melting; suppressing the urge to draw his swords and send this sick bastard flying was too much. The two men were cheek to cheek. His chest felt like it was caving into his chair. Zoro could smell the ash at Sanji’s lips as he heard the soft tap of a cigarette being discarded. Only one move left, but how much closer could he fucking get? 

“Chicken,” Sanji whispered dangerously, as the cook ran his tongue right across Zoro’s earlobe. 

Zoro lost it. The swordsman barreled out of his chair and knocked Sanji down to the floor with an upper cut to the jaw. With his knees on either side of Sanji’s fallen form, Zoro pinned the blond man’s arms above his head, trying to take control of the situation. What had just happened washed over Zoro’s face in a pale flush, somewhere between horror and rage, his entire body rippling in the aftershock. Sanji’s pupils dilated and his lips curled like a Cheshire’s, the blood from the blow disappearing into a satisfied smile. 

“I win,” Sanji purred and sent Zoro flying onto the table with a kickflip. Zoro’s back smacked the wood and plates tumbled off with a crash. By the time the pieces had settled, so had Sanji over his green-haired rival, his hips and thighs shackling the swordsman in place. 

“I dare you…to fucking do that again,” Zoro said through gritted teeth, as he tried to wrench his wrists from Sanji’s grip. What THE FUCK was that? His ear was still throbbing where it had been licked and a tingling sensation crept up his spine that he couldn’t identify. Blond hair brushed his face, as the other man again whispered in his ear. 

“What, this?” Zoro felt lips graze the nape of his neck, as teeth opened up to venture down. His eyes bulged as what could only be arousal seeped into him and against his better judgment, or rather his will, his own lips released a gasp.

Sanji wasn’t quite sure how his mouth got there. Maybe it was the shot of shots he had just taken, but like a crucial moment in combat, his eyes had honed in on a target and his body simply followed. He could smell sake sweetness on Zoro’s skin, the sea and cedar trapped in the curves of his neck from sleeping outside. Breathing him in, Sanji suddenly wanted to swallow him. His mouth continued to explore whatever flesh was exposed as his tongue marked the path. His nimble hands, releasing Zoro’s, found new frontier beneath the swordsman’s Henley. 

Instead of hurling the cook clear across the room like Zoro should have, his freed hands started attacking the buttons on Sanji’s jacket and shirt. His face felt hot, half in anger, half embarrassment, and confused all over. What the hell was he doing? More importantly, why couldn’t he stop? Sure he was drunk, but alcohol never wiped him of his control over his own god damn body; that’s what all the training was for. But where was it now? 

Right now, hands, smooth, strong hands, were snaking around his back, tearing off his shirt as his own tried to match in urgency. Sanji had started another race inside him and now he was struggling to catch up. Something threatened that if he didn’t, those hands would push him over some edge he’d never been. 

But if he charged forward as he always did, where would he go? Where would they go? 

Perhaps his mind hadn’t reached that place yet, that clarity that told him the right thing to do. What was taking so long? Shit but somehow this didn’t feel wrong. Maybe shredding off Sanji’s jacket was in the right direction. Or canvasing the broad of his chest. Or licking the curve of his collarbone. Every moment clothed and away from the other man’s skin was choking him. He grasped onto Sanji’s shoulders like a lifeline and glared at Sanji’s smug grin. He wanted to tear that mouth apart and put it back together. Fuck that Sanji, what was he doing to him? 

Then it occurred to Zoro, somewhere between fingers raking over the range of his abs and that hand jamming itself down the front of his pants, that his body didn’t give a damn about what he thought anymore. A fire had been set to his core and no reasoning could put it out. Fuck it, his body had plans of its own now, receiving its instructions from somewhere deeper, lower. It wanted to feel good. Really good. 

“I thought you only liked girls, skirt-chaser,” he uttered as his teeth sank into Sanji’s exposed shoulder, still grappling with the button up. “And why all the god damn layers, it’s fucking summer.” 

“Who said anything about liking you, asshole, and speak for yourself!” Sanji spat back, shoving the haramaki down and fumbling with Zoro’s hilt as if it were a bra. The katanas finally clanked to the floor, joining the other wounded garments. Zoro’s anticipation grew harder and harder against his groin. Sanji answered it by grinding down gingerly into his crotch, and then viciously grabbing his bulge, relieving Zoro of another pent up moan. Each sound of pleasure he could force from Zoro’s lips only increased the intensity of his advance and in a few calculated jerks, Sanji unceremoniously striped the rest of the swordsman down. 

Lying there exposed, Zoro heaved a sigh as he ran his hands over his head. His body felt borrowed. The air felt thin, the ceiling high. It was oddly like defeat, but why was it so damn exhilarating? Come to think of it, when was the last time he had come this far anyway, with anyone? Before Zoro could get a grip on himself, slender but strong fingers had taken hold of his member and started stroking him, up and down, up and down. The heat inside him welled and reduced his breaths to gasps. He groaned, trying to bleed out the aching want, but it only demanded more. 

Then a tongue, a dripping, luscious tongue slid so knowingly up his shaft, over the tip, and back down to his balls. Again. And again. And again. The void where his mind should’ve been tried to justify the pleasure he was feeling, pleasure done onto him by someone he regularly drew swords at, but no conclusions reached him. And now, dear god, now he felt walls of mouth and tongue closing in around his cock, bringing with them a sucking wetness that ebbed and flowed, ebbed and flowed like brutal waves. With each pump of Sanji’s lips went pieces of Zoro’s sanity. His fingers reached out and threaded themselves in blond. At this rate, he wasn’t going to last much longer. 

Zoro sounded so good in Sanji’s mouth. He took in the lines of Zoro’s hips as they bucked forward for him. He wanted to keep him prisoner there in the back of his throat, waiting. His right hand felt Zoro’s balls contract and his shaft tense up sharply; he knew the green-haired man was close. 

But that would be too easy and Sanji couldn’t just let him off like that. No no no, if Zoro wanted to come, Sanji would have him say it. Sanji immediately released Zoro’s cock and seized only the tip, squeezing mercilessly. Zoro’s head snapped up, his eyes glazed with fury and confusion. He would’ve seemed threatening, but his lids were hooded in pleasure and the flush around his cheeks was just damn adorable. 

“What the fuck??” The shock was sobering Zoro up, his brow becoming more pointedly demanding of an answer. Sanji slowly wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He still had Zoro’s cock in his hand and the feigned ignorance released a growl from his partner. “Just finish already,” Zoro croaked through gritted teeth. Sanji could hear the pleading clinging to the end of that sentence. It gave him such a high that he forgot he wasn’t smoking. 

“Finish what?” He smirked and Zoro, taken aback, blushed even redder. He turned his face away, eyes twitching in frustration. That cook was one sick son-of-a-bitch. Was he really getting off on getting a rise out of him? How fucking ironic. 

“You fucking started this,” Zoro said in a labored attempt to sound alpha. Sanji caught sight of that famous twitch in Zoro’s jaw, the one he had when he was thinking about his next attack. Ignoring the accusation, Sanji leaned over and brushed Zoro’s piercings with the tip of his nose, his lips hovering over his ear. 

“Feels good to be under someone sometimes doesn’t it” It wasn’t a question so much as a confirmation. Zoro closed his eyes and shuddered, how did Sanji get into his fucking head? He attempted to breathe, but the scent of rosemary, pepper and smoke made him forget how. He wanted it to consume him, suffocate him in rapture. He bit down on his lip. Fuck. Shit. 

But then Sanji’s fingers started to glide their way up Zoro’s inner right thigh. The body that was usually so full of resolve and discipline was weakening under his touch. He could feel the heat of want in every muscle, every alert vein, the jaw clenched tighter. Sanji raised his head to steal a glance. Zoro was tight lipped, but his eyes shut tight and brows knit in concentration. He was fighting, bless him. “Come on shithead, it’s not that hard. Well you are but…” His teasing deepened the V in Zoro’s brow. Sanji’s teeth parted his lips in satisfaction and he almost let out a sigh. 

For a moment, he admired his prize; the muscular, solemn swordsman was splayed out in front of him like a slut. Sanji was winning and loving it. His mouth started to water and he licked his lips to mark the occasion. He lifted his hand from Zoro’s thigh and sucked on a finger. Zoro’s eyes started to part and they popped open instantly as Sanji started fingering the rim of his asshole with fresh wetness. 

“Mmmmm” Sanji cooed as he slowly swirled Zoro’s entry. The other man was losing control of his face, his teeth now struggling to keep his bottom lip in place. Fuck, why did it feel so wretchedly good. And then as Sanji slowly inserted the finger, he failed to keep himself from crying out. Then he felt another finger. And another. Three fingers then pumped themselves in and out of him in, pushing him back to that brink of nothingness. Just please, for the love of god, take him there. Take him there now.

“GOD DAMMIT, JUST FUCK ME SANJI” 

Hearing his name in that battle-ready tone sent him over the edge. Finally releasing Zoro’s member and taking his fingers out of him, Sanji grabbed him by the throat and pulled him up so their noses grazed. 

“I won’t be gentle, you sword-swinging fuck.” he hissed, almost gasping for air and control himself. With his free hand, Sanji quickly rid himself of his trousers. Shit, his cock was already so ready and slick from his own pre-cum. The longer their banter carried on, the more he wanted to electrocute that green-haired man’s chest and see the backs of his eyes. 

“No one asked you to shit co-” Zoro’s comeback was interrupted by Sanji’s shaft ramming itself inside him. His groin felt insatiably hot, and each slam of Sanji’s hips sent the heat surging through his spine as his head became dead weight, bobbing obediently to the pace that was ever quickening. His earrings lost count of their chimes and the searing pounding had thrown his head so far back he thought could see God. And he just might; Zoro’s breath was thinning by the grip at his throat, giving an orgasm the clearance to storm in and take him completely. 

Then, despite feeling like he could explode with ecstasy, Zoro snapped to and looked at the blond man fucking him. Sanji, with his arm crowbarring Zoro’s left thigh as leverage, stared back at him with those piercing blues. Seeing the sweat dewed on Sanji’s collarbones and other cuts of his torso, Zoro realized he’d never really looked at him before. Even though he was always there. 

The thought made him feel strangely far away. Zoro lurched himself forward, interrupting his partner’s rhythm, and yanked Sanji down by the neck, sending their mouths crashing. 

Sanji could feel his breath being sucked into Zoro’s mouth, with a hungry tongue that lashed about, trying to find its other. But while the air shared was thick with desperation, Zoro’s lips remained supple, generous in their attention to his. Sanji’s eyes pried themselves open and the look of earnest they saw surprised him further. Zoro’s brow was still furrowed, but without malice; it was bent in intent, it was searching. 

But the hand at Sanji’s throat was firm; it meant to lock them together in this, because there was no turning back now. Sanji couldn’t help but smirk. Zoro, that stubborn shithead. No fucking fair. 

With renewed missionary zeal, Sanji pounded himself into Zoro, hitting the spot that sent that green head of a hair rushing back and a groan bellowing out from deep within. Zoro’s hips smacked impatiently against his, as Sanji felt him open up to the ramming. The muscles in Sanji’s core tensed up to his temples, bracing for impact. The more he pushed, the more Zoro pulled. Their panting grew louder and louder in matching impatience. Fingernails dug and thighs pressed for stability; the tension hurricaning as they poured their mutual contempt and lust into each other. Both men, hands at each other’s throats, spiraled into their moans, a climax whipping them into a white moment of madness. 

***************************************************************************************************************************

“Snack time!” Sanji shouted merrily as he burst out of the kitchen. His arms were stacked with trays of tea sandwiches, puff pastries and accompanying beverages. 

“YAY SNACKS!” Luffy gomu-lunged at the trays, but Sanji whipped his leg around, kneeing the captain in the gut. 

“LADIES FIRST!” Sanji yelled, and skipped off to the girls. After serving the others, he made his way towards the perpetually last customer. 

As he rounded the corner to starboard, he saw Zoro’s bare shoulder blades shift with every strike of his sword. They made no signs of stopping as Sanji approached. 

Sanji suddenly lamented not having seen that backside in a different light last night. He shrugged it off and said nothing as he laid down the plate on top of a barrel nearby. He took a puff from a withering cigarette perched on his lips, careful to avoid the cut there, and straightened his jacket.

But as soon as Sanji started to walk away, he felt a hand grab hold of his wrist. He turned and faced a greedy grin: Zoro had somehow narrowed the distance between them to a breath. Arresting Sanji with those emerald greens, the swordsman blew out his cigarette.

“Chicken,” Zoro whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> It took me two weeks of meditating, One Piece binging and losing sight of who I am to write this. My marriage may or may not have taken a hit. While I had read many a tantalizing fanfic and doujinshi about these two remarkable characters, I felt compelled to write my own for who-knows-why. 
> 
> I wanted keep their voices and actions canon, as well as see Sanji play seme, but also very much wanted to depict a sex scene with a bit more poetic grit. They can fuck each other up, physically and mentally, and neither would be hurt. Their relationship is carnal but balanced, like they are, and there is no OTP quite like them. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story! It was written for the prompt “there’s a party and they both get drunk” with niigiirii, whom I’d like to thank for dragging me down to the deep end. I don’t think I’ll ever resurface the same.


End file.
